Epiphany
by SopheRawr
Summary: Dan, deeply immersed in the London drug scene, tries to clean up and get out, despite the allure of the drugs and influence of friends. He hates Lester's gust since the day they bumped into each other, and everything goes worse when he finds out that he might be gay. A story about how and why you shouldn't take drugs. Contains a lot of expicit content.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:**

**This is a work of fiction. Still, given an infinite number of possible worlds, it must be true on one of them. And if a story set in an infinite number of possible universes is true in one of them, then it must be true in all of them. So maybe it's not as fictional as we think.**

**Note: This story is inspired from Trainspotting and it uses quotes from the movie in this first chapter.**

* * *

___"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,  
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,  
All the King's Horses and all the King's men  
Couldn't put Humpty together again."_

___ -"Riddle" _

* * *

**_Prologue:_**

**-One year ago-**

Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.

So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat.

"How's it going with Gail?" I asked my fucked up, heroin addicted piece of shit friend who was sprawled on my bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling with his black, dilated pupils.

"No joy yet." Gavin said.

"How long is it?"

"Six weeks."

"Six weeks!" I exclaimed.

"It's a nightmare. She told me she didn't want our relationship to start on a physical basis as that is how it would be principally defined from then on in." He said.

"Where did she come up with that?"

"She read it in Cosmopolitan." He said as he raised his hand, his fingers drawing imaginary things in the dusty air.

"Six weeks and no sex?" I asked.

"I've got balls like watermelons, I'm telling you." He sighed. "You're a wanker you know, Dan?"

"Eh?"

"You sober piece of…Take the best orgasm you've ever had... multiply it by a thousand, and you're still nowhere near it. It beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking pussy in the world. You should fucking try it, Dan." He insisted.

"I have no reason at all."

"Who need reason when you've got heroin? People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shit which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid."

"Fine, give it here." I said.

"Shoot it up or chase the dragon?"

"Second. I don't want my flesh to fall off of me."

* * *

_Chapter 1:_

We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclizine, codeine, temazepam, nitrazepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal, dextropropo xyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine, buprenorphine, dextromoramide, chlormethiazole. The streets are a wash with drugs you can have for unhappiness and pain, and we took them all. Fuck it, we would of injected vitimin C if only they'd made it illegal.

Diane was raking her red fake nails across the naked skin of my chest as her lips pressed to the glass pipe and took a shot.

"You can't stay in here all day dreaming about heroin and Ziggy Pop." She said.

"It's Iggy Pop."

"Whatever. I mean, the guy's dead anyway." She said as she passed the pipe to me.

"Iggy Pop's not dead. He toured last year!" I shouted.

"Shut up, you shits." Gavin said. "I can't hear when the cops come."

We stood in silence as we let the smoke of the drug combine with the air. We were completely and totally fucked up.

"Damn, I miss Tommy." I said, rubbing my injected eyes.

"Tommy knew he'd caught the virus, but he never knew he'd gone full-blown." Gavin said.

"What was it, pneumonia or cancer?" Diane asked him.

"No, toxoplasmosis. Sort of like a stroke." He said.

"Eh? How's that?" I asked.

"He wanted to see Lizzy again. Lizzy wouldn't let him near the house. So he bought a present for her, bought her a kitten."

"But Lizzy told him where to fucking stick it!" Diane shouted.

"I don't understand…what you're talking about, guys…" I murmured.

"Exactly. "l'm not wantin' that cat," she says. "Get the fuck," right? So there's Tommy stuck with this kitten. You can imagine what happened. The thing was neglected... pissing and shitting all over the place. Tommy's lying about fucked out of his eyeballs... on smack or downers. He never knew you could get toxoplasmosis from cat shit." Gavin explained to her.

"Neither did I. What is it?"

"Fucking horrible. It's like and abscess on your brain."

"Fucking hell. Then what happened?" Diane looked shocked.

"He starts getting these headaches. So he just uses more smack, you know, for the pain. And then he has a stroke. A fucking stroke, just like that. Gets home from the hospital and dies three weeks later. He'd been dead for ages before the neighbors complained about the smell and got the police to break down the door. Tommy was lying facedown in a pool of vomit." He said.

There was a really long pause, in witch me and Diane stared at our friend.

"The kitten was fine."

* * *

**Two hours later:**

"Are they here?" Gavin asked, he looked like a maniac.

"Who?" I asked. I couldn't take my eyes off Diane's body, which was lying on the floor, mid-way to the bathroom.

"The cops, man! The cops!" He shouted, as he slowly raised his head until his eyes were above the sill of my window. His injected eyes were scouting the environs with rapid movements. I was just feeling like I was making out with the creator. A vinegar acrid taste was flooding my mouth, whatsoever. The creator didn't kiss too good.

"Dan, who the hell is that girl anyway?" Gavin asked.

"Who? Diane?"

"Yeah. Diane. Who is she?"

"You fucking know who she is. She's an underage schoolgirl." I responded.

Gavin laughed. "You know what they do to people like you in prison? They cut your balls off and flush them down the toilet." He said.

"Calm down; I'm not going to prison." I responded.

"Let's get out, Dan. Let's hunt the cops." Gavin jumped from his chair and did his little Scottish dance.

"Are you proud of being Scottish?"

"It's SHITE being Scottish! We're the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some hate the English. I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are COLONIZED by wankers. Can't even find a decent culture to be colonized BY. We're ruled by effete assholes. It's a SHITE state of affairs to be in, Dan, and ALL the fresh air in the world won't make any fucking difference!"

"Fine, let's go out." I said.

* * *

**-Out-**

We left Diane in the hallway. What were we supposed to do?

"Hell, man. It's a living hell." Gavin said as he kicked an empty can of Guinness across the pavement. "I'm burning in hell. The hell of myself."

"Don't worry, one thousand years from now, there'll be no guys and no girls, just wankers, and you'll be doing cocaine with the devil, so cheer up." I said.

My hands and my feet were really cold, as if I had holes in my pocket and my shoes. I felt like a hobo, looking for a place to sleep on the ruined streets of London.

"What do you love most about Gail?" I asked Gavin.

"Her personality, I mean that's what counts, right? That's what keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin, I mean heroin's got a great fucking personality."

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

"Everywhere. Look! Let's go there!" Gavin exclaimed as he pointed to a bookshop. He grabbed my forearm and dragged me across the street to the old store.

"Fuck off, you bookworm!" I said. "There are cops in there!"

Gavin let go of me and looked me in the eyes. "But cops are the best!"

I walked away. My vision was on the pavement, my hand in my pockets. As I minded my own fucking business, this fucking guy bumped into me and plumped me to the ground.

"Hey! Watch where you're fucking going!" I yelled.

"Fuck off, you junkie." He said, looking at me with his blue eyes. He had this uncombed black hair and looked more like a hobo than myself.

I got up and dusted myself off. As he walked away, my eyes locked on his nape and I found myself attacking a stranger in the middle of the street. I punched him in his cheek but I had none to little strength in my arm.

"You fucking…piece of shit!" He screamed as he turned towards me and took a leap, throwing me to the ground with him on top.

I knew that was the end of me and it wasn't what I wished for. I just needed a little more heroin.


	2. Chapter 2

**This story isn't for everyone xD**

**-Generic plea for reviews-**

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

I found myself being choked to death in the middle of the street, with a big, dark haired douche on top of me. I let out a pathetic shriek as I saw his fist aiming for my face but fortunately Gavin grabbed him from behind and pulled him off of me.

"Oi! Calm down ya bloody wanker!" He said.

The boy was wriggling and tossing his arms around as he held his gaze on me.

"Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other one to die!" Gavin said.

"Fuck off, Buddha!" The boy shouted as he extorted himself from Gavin's arms. "You're fucking lucky!" He shouted as he span on his heels and walked away, throwing one last sharp look at me.

"Who the fuck's that guy?" I asked after he left and I got up from the ground, dusting myself off and rubbing the sore spots on my neck.

"That's Lester." Gavin said.

"Lester who?"

"Philip."

_**Later that day:**_

I held Diane's hair as she puked her guts out in my toilet, in the meantime, counting the number of stripes the tile on the wall had.

_98…_

_99…_

_100…_

_I really wonder what's up with that guy…_

_101…_

"Are you okay now?" I asked her. She shook her head. "Take this." I said as I handed her a glass of water. "Makes you feel better…"

"What's wrong with you anyway? You don't look too good." She said as she cupped my cheek in her small hand.

"Dee, I've been on drugs for twenty-four hours now. I don't even know if this is real life anymore."

Her lips touched mine. "Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?" She asked me between the kisses.

"No. All I can remember is that lately I haven't exactly been a ball of joy."

Her mouth tasted of vomit and cigarettes. "And I've been awake for two days." I said as I backed off. Her lips didn't feel right on mine. Her blood-shot eyes didn't feel right watching mine.

"Go, then." She said as she pushed me through the hallway and into my bedroom. "Good night."

All that I can remember before I fell asleep is that I looked through the window. The sky was so tragically beautiful. A graveyard of stars.

_**The next day:**_

"I don't think that I need to sit here with you fuckin' dildos anymore!" Blake yelled as he exited the living room and shut the door behind him with a thud.

"Come ooon!" Gavin said, "I was just joking!"

"Calling his mum a pompous turd waffle wasn't actually a joke…" Diane said.

"Anyway! Let's go and have a drink."

We got up and went to 69 Colebrooke Row. The weather was as windy and rainy as always and I struggled with keeping my hood from falling off of my head. I wonder what life would be like if I were in Bahamas.

"You know guys…I'll always remember the last words of my grandfather, who said: 'A truck!'" Gavin told us as he teetered around the sidewalk. "I was with this girl the other night and from the way she was responding to my skillful caresses, you would have sworn that she was conscious from the top of her head to the tag on her toes."

"Mate, you're already bladdered and it's only 3 p.m." I said. "Let's go back."

"No!" He protested. "I want to get wasted!"

"So annoying…" I muttered.

Diane clang like a leech on my arm. "What are those?" She asked, her fingers touching the mauve bruises on the side of my neck. "They look like fingers."

"You wouldn't believe it, Dee!" Gavin yelled. "Dan got strangled by that boy, Lester! In the middle of the fuckin' street!"

"Oh my…Dan…you're in really big trouble." She whispered, her eyes widening.

"Who the fuck cares about that bloody twat?!" I felt exasperated and drained. "I don't anyway."

We walked into the bar, a dusky, dingy, dank little place off the beaten path. From around the corner we could hear the somnolent buzz of the eponymous neon "69" out front, providing a backdrop for the clinking of glasses and drone like chatter of hundred best friends and ex-lovers.

As we entered the joint, the intermingled smells of smoke and sweat and too many people instantly assaulted my nostrils as I inhaled deeply. _Ahhh, it's good to be home_, I thought and pushed my body through the pulsating throng. Finally finding my way to an empty barstool in the corner, with Gavin and Diane on both of my sides, I motioned to the bartender and ordered a beer.

By now, my eyes were adjusting to the imminent darkness, tomblike and womblike at the same time. Bright spots of neon martini signs on the wall stood out, illuminating the faces and cleavage and Mohawks of the crowd, while others disappeared into the contrasting blackness...

A moment later, my beer slid in front of me, and the bartender was gone before I could even look up to mouth the words "Thanks". _Wouldn't have mattered anyway,_ I mused, as it is clearly understood that one speaks of gratitude with cash, not words. Everyone's your best friend when you're flying high, you know.

I felt a pair of hands on my thigh and jumped at the sensation, only to realize that Diane's nails were those sliding across my black jeans. She grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the bar, with a cheeky, kind of sexual smile spreading across her face. Her eyes were two gleaming blue stones as she looked at me over her shoulder and winked, her black lashes feathering across her cheek. She dragged me to the stalls and pushed me against the cold, green tiled wall. Her breasts pressed against my chest and with a provocatively and mindlessly hunger her pink lips pressed against mine. She took my hand and bound it to her ass as her tongue slid between my parted lips. She kneeled down, her skirt sliding up, almost revealing her white bikinis. She pressed a hand against my bulge and with a desperate rhythm she tried to undo my belt.

"I don't…think this is such a good idea, babe." I tried saying.

"Shut up."

She managed to pull my pants down, only to make the most disappointed, perplexed face.

"What the fuck's this?" She asked when she saw that I didn't have an erection. "What the fuck, Dan?"

"I…I…um…" I babbled.

"God, maybe you're gay." She whispered.

"Bollocks, Dee. I just don't…"

"You don't feel attracted to me anymore?" Her eyes became sort of watery and I knew the worst was about to come.

"Dee…Diane…no…" I picked her up from the floor and caressed her cheek. "That's not true."

"Go away!" She yelled. "You're gay!"

I was convinced that the whole bar just heard her.

"Shut up!"

**Phil's POV:**

Jayne was the absolute worst I've ever experienced. I've never even heard of girls worse at fellatio than her. Her teeth were all over my dick; she had no rhythm, no enthusiasm, and had a mouth that mysteriously never got moist. It was awful.

But that night she was doing a pretty good job and I got very enthused with my hip thrusts when I felt a warm, wet sensation on my crotch. I was laying on my back and I looked down and saw what looked like A LOT of splooge.

This confused me because even though I was close to coming, I didn't actually achieved orgasm. The cum was chunky to the touch, very dark, and much more viscous than any semen that I've even seen shout out of my manhood. My first thought was that she had given me some crazy hybrid VD that made my discharge all thick and chunky. I dismissed that, but my mind was still racing; I couldn't figure out what could be wrong, so I said:

"What did you do to my dick?"

She looked up at me. The expression on her face immediately gave it away;

"Oh my god-did you just throw up on my dick? Did you just VOMIT ON MY FUCKING DICK?!"

She started crying and call me an arsehole as she picked her blouse from the floor and exited my room, yelling that she thought I loved her.

"Fuck…"

_**Later:**_

I stared at the ceiling and thought that a drink was what I needed right now so I got up and went to the nearest pub.

The smell of alcohol and sex hit me like a tidal wave as I entered 69 Colebrooke Row and I felt my heart pumping with excitement at the thought of getting drunk and maybe gettin' it with a girl…or two. I ordered a round of shots at the bar and belt down each one of them. I was about to order another round when I felt someone bump into me. I looked down only to see the twat I almost killed earlier.

"Sorry, mate." He said. But he looked up and when his eyes met mine, I could see the gleaming fear inside of them. Before I could say something, he sprinted in the mass of lascivious dancing bodies and left the bar. I threw some money on the counter and I felt a grin creep on my face.

I began chasing after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: The character "Cyr" is actually Vincent Cyr from Youtube. **

**-Generic plea for reviews-**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

I began chasing after the lad, pushing the dancing bodies out of my way and feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

"Why are you running?" I yelled after him, trying to make my voice heard through the beats of the music turned so fucking loud I couldn't even think.

He wasn't very fast and I soon overtook him. I saw him almost smash into the door in the haste of escaping me. He looked over his shoulder and his face betrayed pure terror when I grinned at him.

"Help!" He shouted.

"Really…" I whispered. "Who do you think can hear you?"

He managed to pull the door handle and got out, only making me follow him further.

"Mate, where d'ya think you're goin'?" A voice said as a hand blocked me. Cyr stood in front of me with an arm on my chest, pushing me back. "Who are you chasin' after?" He asked as he looked over his shoulder. "Oh my, that's Dan!"

"You know that kid?" I asked, my eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Yeah, he buys crack from me sometimes."

"Oh, so he's a junkie."

"Kind of…a small one. He doesn't know what he's doing, he's completely lost. He doesn't need you beatin' up his ass right now." Cyr said. "Leave him be."

I frowned and pushed his hand off of me, going back to the bar. '_I need a back rub, a few shots of whiskey, and a good fuck' _I thought.

**Dan's POV:**

I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction of the building, not even thinking that I've left Diane and Gavin alone in there. I felt like my heart was being ripped from my ribcage as I stopped for a second and tried to regain my breath. I am not a really fit man; I can't run for long distances. I looked back, checking if that maniac was still after me. When I came to my senses, I took a deep breath.

"Monster!" I yelled and only the trees softly swaying in the cold autumn wind responded me.

"You're so reckless, Dan." Cyr said as he walked towards me.

"What are you-"

"I just saved your life. Apparently, he isn't interested in crack-heads." He interrupted me.

"Fuck off." I said as I turned around. "Who the hell does he think he is anyway?"

"Well…He is known for being quite the thug around here; I'm surprised you haven't heard about him." He said.

"Who cares…Cyr, please take me home."

**The next day:**

"Yeah, yeah, okay, sorry, I'm sorry….Look Gavin, I really had to get out of there, I'm really sorry, okay?" I said on the phone.

"Mate, if you do this shit again I'm gonna blow you up. You scared the hell outta me." He said.

"Fine, I promise I won't do it again, even if my life depends on it."

"…See you later. Don't forget." He hesitated.

"Fine, bye." I hung up and threw myself on the sofa. My vision darted to the window and I just thought…

_I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful person, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why - but there's no use in talking to people who have home._

_They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head…_

_I was always an unusual boy._

_My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean..._

_And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying...Because I was born to be the other man._

_Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me._

_Every night I used to pray that I'd find my people, and finally I did, on the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art._

A cold and dreadful wind seeped in through the half-opened window. It carried a somewhat mysterious and unpleasant feeling of unknown future.

_What a pretty weather. _

I got up from the couch and grabbed my jacket, taking a stroll being what I really needed.

The street was empty. I could hear the faint howl of the wind as it blew on my face. It was like I was alone on another planet in the middle of an empty palace. There were a few lights working. It was almost pitch black. There were no voices, no other forms of life. Nothing. They were all scared of the wind.

As I walked on the lonely road, a metallic, rusty smell invaded my senses. It was somewhat like iron that's just been grinded and the salty smell of the ocean. My vision darted around, trying to find the source of the whiff. I heard a slight groan coming from my side and as I turned around, I felt a chill creep into the veins of my body.

My feet padded to an area that served as a little park. Another groan, then silence.

Suddenly, I froze. Not a single muscle in my body was moving as my eyes stared at the body that was laying on the ground, half covered by the bushes. I crouched and I was shocked upon realizing that I actually knew that person.

_Ah, there he is._

_That motherfucker._

_What a tool._

Lester didn't look too good, almost if as someone just bashed his body to death. I didn't see any signs that he was breathing anymore and as I looked over his wounds, my heart shrank. It sucked. Another groan alerted me that he was still alive. After a thousand curses in my head, I tried picking his body up and see what I could do with it. _Maybe I can throw him in the lake…Or maybe set him on fire…_

"Shit…" I said as his blood was staining my fresh clothes. "You motherfucker…" I whispered.

His eyes fluttered, allowing me to see the ocean blue underneath his lids. I was almost tempted to throw him in the middle of the road and just let him there to rot. But I didn't do that. I didn't fucking do that. Instead I took him to my house and looked up how to treat his wounds. It felt like the fires of hell were swallowing me whole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, please leave a review if you enjoyed! :D**

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**Chapter 4:**

I took him to my house and looked up how to treat his wounds. It felt like the fires of hell were swallowing me whole.

I was sort of carrying/dragging him across the pavement to my house, hoping he wouldn't wake up and kill me right on the spot. I opened the door and placed him on the couch.

"I hope you won't fucking stain it too bad…" I whispered to myself. After I locked the door, I went and sat down, with my elbows resting on my knees and my chin in the palm of my hand. I wondered what I should do as my eyes glanced at his face. He was frowning.

I sighed and searched the cabinets around my house for any bandages and ointments I had around.

"Why am I doing this…?"

I went back to him with my arms full of things. I didn't even know I had this much medical shit around my house. I sat down on my knees and tried to take off his shirt. As I pulled, the sound of the material sticking to his wounds almost made me gag. Thick, dark red liquid slowly oozed out of them as I removed his shirt. He looked as if he had just been stabbed. His face was covered in sweat and I could see his eyes moving under his pale, paper-like eyelids. I took a wet towel and cleaned the bruises from his stomach and tried to stop the bleeding from his upper arm.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open and I almost stumbled backwards. His blue orbs took stock of his surroundings and he gave me a thorough going over. He stared at my face for a few seconds but it felt like minutes as I tried to regain the breath that was stuck in my throat. His vision darted to his wounds, all clean and bandaged. He frowned again, looking back at me.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a stern voice.

"Just trying to – "

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Lester growled.

I stared at him.

"Listen to me fucker and just shut that damn dick holster for a minute, will ya?" His eyebrows raised in surprise. "If you want to live to fucking see the next sunrise then quit bitching and let me finish what I've started!" I yelled back at him. "You'll be out the door as soon as I'm done with you anyway!"

I schlepped back towards the sofa, not looking at him.

"Feisty…" He murmured.

"I saw your back." I softly spoke after a few moments of silence.

"And?"

"You need to turn around and let me clean that wound."

His blue eyes lingered on mine and as slow as a snail, he pushed himself up with a groan of pain releasing through his parted lips, and skewed on his healthy arm. He was in horrendous condition. He coughed, spewing out blood that was trying to pool within his lungs.

I wanted to know what happened to him. I could see that he had been slashed and stabbed, his swollen eye and the bruises all over his body let me know that he had been beaten, but with what? Fist? Foot? Boards? Bricks? Was he thrown down a stairwell? Run over by a car? Smashed into a wall? Why did I care anyway? He wanted to kill me.

The gash was going through his whole back. It was so deep that I swore I could see the bone underneath the flesh. Blood was spilling slowly but heavily on my carpet and the scene looked like a torture chamber. Maybe it was better to call an ambulance.

"I think…I should call 911…" I said quietly as my eyes traced the wound that would panic anyone who saw it.

"No." He said, "Don't."

"Fine, but you're paying the cleaning."

With a damp cloth I cleaned the outline of his wound and traced the muscled planes of his back, my fingers softly touching his ivory skin. I felt myself attracted to the way little drops of sweat rippled down his bare, soft flesh and I felt my cheeks flush red. It was silent in the room, the only sounds were coming from his rough breathing. I stood there, my hand stopped in mid-air with thoughts swirling around my mind. _What the hell am I doing? What the fuck? What is wrong with me?_

I stopped just as soon as I was about to touch him again by a loud banging at the door. I got up from the floor and looked through the view finder. Gavin's bloated face was on the other side of it.

"Ah shit…" I cursed. I looked back at Lester. He was watching me.

I was panicking as Gavin knocked again.

"Daaan? You promised!" His voice was heard.

I didn't know what to do. If I moved Lester the blood would still be all over my couch and floor so there was no use. I opened the door.

"Daaaaa –OH MY fucking god!" He screamed.

"Shhhhh! The whole neighborhood just heard you." I said as I put my hand over his mouth, dragging him inside and shutting the door behind.

His face was pure terror as he took in his environs and I just stood there with a stupid smile on my face.

"Mister Howell, would you care to explain this to me?" He asked as he approached the bloody man on my sofa. His eyes studied Lester and then they diverted back to me. "Why am I your friend?"

* * *

**_Later:_**

We managed to get Lester in a sitting position after we cleaned most of the gore from my living room. I was sat next to him and Gavin stood in an armchair in front of us.

"You promised that we'll spend the day together." He said.

"Yeah, well…" I began.

"Instead you decided to be a miscreant, degenerate clown and act as a hero! This guy almost killed you two days ago, what the fuck!"

"And what was I supposed to do, Gavin?" I asked him.

He sunk in the armchair, sulking.

"You don't even know what this guy's planning!" He continued.

"Gavin, really…"

"He looks evil! Look at his eyes! He looks like a psychopath!"

Lester didn't say a word as he stared at Gavin. I had to give that to my friend. He didn't look really normal. The skin of his face looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of him.

"Mate, look, I'm really tired. You should come back tomorrow." I said as I glanced at the clock. 2 a.m.

He got up and sighed, going away in a tiff.

"Take care, Dan. Really, really, watch out." He said as he opened the door and left my house.

I locked the door after him. My back pressed to the wood before sliding down it to slump to the floor. I sat and listened as he walked away down the alley. Silence then followed and I was left to ponder over what on earth I was going to do. The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do. I didn't know what to say. I felt like crying. Goddammit, everybody in the world wants an explanation for your acts and for your very being. Really now, was I supposed to leave the man to rot in the bushes even if recently his hands were around my neck?

"What a shame." Lester said from across the room. I raised my head from my knees and looked at him.

"What?" I asked.

"I bet you feel really stupid right now." He said.

"Shut the hell up. You aren't even considerate enough to explain to me what the hell is going on."

"It's none of your business." He said with a sly smile on his face.

"I'd say go to hell, but I never want to see you again." I told him.

He smiled wider.

My head rested on my knees again. I felt tired. I felt weak.

I almost feel asleep right there, on the carpet in front of my door. I was woken by the cold wind blowing from the open window. My frail legs carried me to my bed in which I sunk the second I laid on. I didn't even bother to look at him. He was still on that couch. Still looking at me. He was annoying.

My very existence, my life in the world, seemed like a hallucination. And as my eyes closed and I was on the verge of falling into slumber I heard grunts, sounds of displeasure. The clock showed 4 a.m.

I felt so cold as my bare feet padded across the floor and into the living room. I knew he couldn't sleep there. I took his hand and without any words he slowly got up and followed me. Through the silver rays of the moon his hair looked ebony, his eyes argent. He complied as I sat him on the other side of my bed. I could see his eyes on me as I walked to my side and got in.

I stood up late enough until I was just exhausted enough that I could fall back into my dreams and sink into immediate slumber. Because I couldn't stand lying in a bed in a dark room with just my thought for so many hours and hours, trying to not look to my side. I felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often. And the worst part is that I didn't even know why.

It wasn't the first time when I felt completely and utterly crazy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this new chapter (I say it again, this story isn't for everyone.)**

**If you like it please leave a review because I'd like some more feedback from you guys and your reviews and appreciation are the only things that keep me motivated to write further. **

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

**Dan's POV:**

_I felt paralyzed towards my whole body. That feeling I knew too well, diffusing like an abandoned disease. It possessed me, made me into something I couldn't have power over. It was like a lightning bolt, waiting to thump me down at my weakest minute. I had no authority over it. I could see his sharp, icy yet blistering eyes piercing through me every time I looked directly at him. It hurt. But I knew I was vulnerable. Nevertheless I still bawled for help. I could feel the heat of the malicious fire blazing my skin; it felt like I was a pig on a medieval roasting spit. My whole body was generating gallons of sweat maybe enough to fill up a whole reservoir. I could hear them converse to each other. There were perhaps five of them or maybe more. Who knows? I couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded too foreign for my ears and my brain to pick up and recognize the language._

_A phone rang from somewhere in the room, and I saw one of the men walking towards it. But he didn't pick it up. He left it there, ringing, as his eyes diverted towards the corner in which I was hidden. Through the dark, I could see his imposing figure slowly stepping towards me. And the phone was ringing, ringing and ringing. A sound that pierced through my ears and into my brain, shaking every bit and bone of my body. _

"_I see you." He whispered, his bony, white hand reaching towards me._

My eyes flashed open and I gasped for air. I sat up slowly, wiping my forehead and neck, both damp with sweat. I checked the perimeter of the room, but my dream was already fading. I kicked the covers off and stopped. If it was August, I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but it wasn't. It was September and the heat this early was uncanny. I shook it off and stumbled to the shower, hoping I was just overheated.

As I towel dried my hair, I glanced at my bed.

I knew he would leave and a feel of relief washed through me as I watched the empty sheets.

* * *

**Later:**

I opened the door and Diane waltzed in through the entrance. Her long legs were bare despite the cold day but most of her body was covered by a long coat, lined with yellow fake fur. Her lips were pursed with determination, a cigarette pinched between her fingers. Her enormous high heels clacked against the floor as she walked around the living-room. Her eyes were tired, deep, dark circles lined underneath. I could see her bony, thin frame as her coat maundered alongside her.

**Diane's POV:**

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days – like a loose thread on my favorite sweater I couldn't resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me. I put out my cigarette on the nearest ash-tray and looked at Dan, who stood confused in the doorway.

"I thought you gave up – "

"Do you love me?" I asked.

He stared at me. In his hesitation I found my answer.

I collapsed on his dirty sofa and closed my eyes. I heard his feet on the carpet as he walked towards me and sat down.

"You know, you're a little complicated after all." He said.

"Oh no," I assured him hastily. "No, I'm not really – I'm just a – I'm just a whole lot of different simple people."

Silence fell between us.

"Dan…" I whispered. I kicked off my heels and straddled him, my head falling onto his chest. His hands wrapped around my waist. My heart slammed against my ribs when I thought of all the slaughtered nights I spent all over the city waiting to feel his touch. I loved him and it was getting worse. And I knew he didn't love me back. He couldn't possibly love someone like me.

"I thought you didn't do this anymore." He said, as he slightly pushed me away, only to look me in the eyes.

"I have to survive somehow."

From the pocket of my coat I pulled out a little plastic bag and I felt a grin creep on my lips. "Today's payment." I said.

"No." He said swiftly. "No, I'm trying to…give up. I feel like it's ruining whatever life I still have inside me."

"Come on, Dan." I purred. "A minute of quiet in a loud, shouting world."

I took six smiling paper squares from the bag and put them on my tongue. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pressed my open mouth against his. My tongue made sweeping, swirling motions, danced and curled, desperate to taste every bit of his wet mouth. I was thrusting my body against his and stroked his mouth to ecstasy as the papers began dissolving. His hands were bound to my ass as I fisted his dark locks between my fingers. We rubbed our bodies against each other as we waited for Lucy to kick in.

Probably about an hour or two into the trip I was downright fucked. And Dan too. Things were getting really intense. I looked at the underside of my hand and wrist and saw the veins scintillating and moving quickly like highways of 'loading' bars on the computer with the diagonal lines moving. The visuals were making me sick so I closed my eyes and saw this universe pattern with millions of different sized dots and stars made of different day-glo colors. It was all intensely beautiful but I felt too sick to appreciate it. I stood up to make my way to the bathroom to try to speed up the inevitable and found my balance was insanely off. I stumbled and almost fell over, then crawling over to the toilet and sitting cross-legged in front of it, cursing it for being so tall and not being usable with me in that sitting position because it was the only position I could think of at the moment. The visuals at this point were not as noticeable because I was looking around too fast to settle on something, and frankly was concerned with my survival more than the trip. I knew in the back of my head that no one has ever died from LSD itself, and so as long as I maintained some small measure of control and didn't fling myself out a window or something I would be fine. I didn't even look back to see if Dan was alright. I was concerned only about myself. I fully expected either my friends, the police, or EMTs to bust in the room any second.

I got up from the ground and slowly made my way back into the living-room where I saw Dan holding for dear life the armrest of the sofa. I asked him to smoke a bowl with me, thinking it would calm me down. Boy was I wrong. With every toke I took, the world got more and more unnoticeable. I could hear this strange music, sounded like an out of tune violin strings mixed with fingernails running down a chalkboard. I got up and went and sat down on the sofa. I thought I had finally lost my mind. I could see myself locked up in the looney bin, with a straight jacket and all.

I've never had a bad trip before. My brain was being rewired and wired again.. Over and over and over and over and over... Time was lasting forever; I thought I would never be the same again. As I was laying there staring at the ceiling I felt as if my body parts were being taken off and then put back on the wrong way, like my legs and arms were laying at odd angles, twitching and working incorrectly. I began to feel like absolute shit. I was lost, wandering aimlessly looking for the peace, love, and beauty I had felt before but all I could see was darkness and terror. I took some Melatonin and Gabapentin from Dan's supply to try and kill my trip early so I could sleep and at least find peace there. I wanted to die. I felt like I was eternally trapped by pain and demons began to haunt my thoughts. They sounded like really ghetto trashy fucked up people and kept repeating a barrage of cuss words, shouting into my brain words like "bitch ass nigga motha fucka shithead douchebag asshole fuck fuck fuck.." and so on. I couldn't make them go away.

I had momentary visions of staring up from a stretcher and seeing my parents leaning over me, silhouetted by the bright hospital lights. I assumed that I would only have these momentary glimpses of my original reality but would be mostly trapped in my dysfunctional brain for the rest of my life. I saw a masked doctor with thin spectacles approaching my face with a long thin glass tube and I gagged as he forced it down my throat. I was blinded as the world filled up with brilliant white light and multicolored stars arcing over my field of vision, and my ears began to ring as the volume of my roaring auditory hallucinations peaked. I felt like sobbing but could not make a sound, I had let my family and friends down—I took too many drugs and now it was too late—I would never see them again.

I was totally fucked up, the carpet was undulating and each object on the floor took on massive significance in what I thought to be the light of my last moments of life. Eventually I passed out on Dan's bed for several hours when my crisis came to a pitch- I shut my eyes and tried to narrow my experience to the smallest amount of stimuli possible, focusing on my breathing. I guess this made me fall asleep because the next thing I remember was waking up around 6:00 pm, knowing the worst was over and thanking God and the spirits of the universe that I was alive and O.K. The trip was far from over, however, and the visuals were still going full force. The whitewashed walls were plastered with thousands of little amoeba shaped blobs each with numerous different bright colors contained within. I remember being stunned at the rainbows that seemed to form a halo around every object. By this time the sun had set, and turning on the lamps in the room sent cascades of crystalline light in all directions. With my totally ridiculous fear of dying past me, I was able to turn on some music and enjoy the totally beautiful, ecstatic visuals that slowly died down, coming back briefly in waves until about 11 o'clock.

When everything was finally over I collapsed near Dan on the couch and contemplated everything that had happen.

"Maybe you were right, baby." I said.

"What?"

"We should really give up…"

He smiled and looked at me. "I'm always right."

* * *

**The night after:**

**Dan's POV:**

"You are so stupid." Gavin said as he wolfed his spicy rice down.

"I didn't want to do it! She practically forced me." I protested.

"Ugh, stop acting like you're five." Diane said, eating some boiled meat dumplings.

It was about 8 p.m. and we were stood in a circle in my living-room, eating Chinese food and talking about whatever stupid things crossed our minds. Like any normal 17-20 year old humans should.

Gavin pulled out his phone and began reading:

"Hey Gav I know it's late but I got a bit "high" and decided to swim in the river with Diane and she went down stream and now I don't know what to do."

He began laughing.

"I was tripping!" I yelled.

"Anyway," He said, suddenly his face becoming serious. "What happened with that Lester guy?" He asked.

"What? Lester? Dan, what are you keeping from me?" Diane asked.

I took no heed of her and said:

"He just left. I don't know what happened to him."

"I see." Gavin murmured.

We resumed our eating and I knew Diane was staring right at me.

"There's something you aren't telling me." She stammered.

"There's no need for you to know."

"But -"

"Just, keep it quiet. My head still hurts." I spoke.

"Peasant." She said under her breath.

"Dan," Gavin began. "Stop being so quiet. You realize you are not alone, right? No one in their twenties has life figured out. It's okay to be a mess. You're living."

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

"Ugh! You're such a douchebag!" Gavin ranted. "I was trying to say something nice."

"I'm sorry, I'm awful, I've just felt so terribly destructive all week. It's awful. I'm horrible." I said and got up, going to the bathroom.

My hands tightly gripped the sink, leaning my weight on it as I tried to control my breathing. I raised my head up to the mirror attempting to calm myself down. What the hell was happening with me? Was this the aftermath of the LSD? I splashed my face with cold water. As I glanced at my reflection I saw nothing but a broken man with no future ahead of him. What was I going to do? Was I going to spend my entire life in these four rooms of mine, drugged and dreaming of a better life? No matter where I go, I still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as I'll come to defining myself. I had to redeem myself somehow.

I opened the door and Diane stood in front of me. Her frail body stepped towards me and she embraced me in a hug, her face snuggling in the crook of my neck.

"I'm so sorry, Dan. I thought this is what you wanted." She whispered.

"Nobody wants this, Diane." I said as I hugged her back.

* * *

**The next day:**

"I need a job." I said to Diane over the phone.

"Well, I think I have something for you…Wait a sec." She said and I heard muffled voices in the background. "Dan, I don't think it's the usual type of job, but it's worth a try." She said and I knew exactly was she meant.

"Dee…" I tried saying.

"Look, Dan, I do it too. It's nothing to be ashamed about and you earn money, right?" She spoke.

"Fine. Tell me where."

* * *

**Later:**

The walk from Second Avenue to Third felt more like a run. After a while I noticed a red car behind me, slowly following. Before I reached the subway stop, the car inched forward to idle at curbside. The passenger window slid down. A Kewpie doll face hovered inside the shadows. The face leaned forward into the light; I saw the driver wasn't a doll at all, but a man sporting a buzz haircut and a pink polo shirt. "Hop in," he said.

A man. It was a man. A man. I was going to have sex with a _man_.

I opened the door and crawled in hesitantly. I really wondered if Diane was suffering from some kind of mental disease.

"Mind going home with me?" the man asked. "No names. No bullshit. I'll pay." His baritone came in brief, hiccuped sentences, as if someone were regulating his speech through a control panel, one overzealous thumb pushing a button. I nodded, and his car tore downtown.

He looked fortyish, straight, slightly criminal. At that point it didn't matter. We didn't speak; I put my ear against the cold window. The sounds around us seemed slowed down, far away. The radio's song droned on, a sugary voice repeating, "I guess I'll have to love you in my favorite dream." For some reason that sounded pretty. I dozed off at one point, due to the narcotic effects of the car heater and the beer I drank earlier.

I opened my eyes. The car was nearing my neighborhood. We zoomed onto Delancey Street, then crossed then a bridge into somewhere else. Things got incredibly quiet. Lights, brownstones, and storefronts blurred past. "Where are you taking me?"

"Regent's Park," he said. I'd seen those words on subway maps, and I knew it was pretty far from Lambeth. I opened my mouth to protest. "No more questions," he spat. Surprise must have registered on my face, because he smirked and added a much calmer "I hope you're horny."

"Yeah, whatever." I wanted to blurt, One hundred and twenty dollars horny, but it didn't seem the time or place. I was absolutely terrified. My eyes closed again.

When I woke, he was shutting off the ignition. He had parked beside an apartment complex. The world had hushed. I looked around, saw trees, residential houses, even a picket fence across the street. Only the orangey light from the nearby subway station remotely resembled London. I wanted to be on that now, riding home. But I had 'work' to do. He led the way into a claustrophobic elevator. His calloused finger touched the seven button. I noticed a black crescent on his thumbnail, a dark scar like a half-lidded eye. "Accident with a hammer?" I asked, my words slurring together. He didn't answer.

We entered his apartment, number 703. He shuffled around, turning on lights, then dimming them. I fell into a couch as if it were a pool of warm water. Somewhere, romantic music was playing. Minutes passed. I fought the urge to close my eyes. When he entered the room, I sat up and took a good look at his face. He seemed emotionless, regular, the sort of average 'Joe' that crafty policemen might stick into a criminal line-up to help a victim identify a guilty felon. "The bedroom's this way," he said.

More dimmed lights. I saw a bed, a bookshelf without books, and a single poster on the wall advertising a jazz festival, its J shaped like a saxophone. The guy opened a drawer. His hands moved toward my face. One held a miniature plastic spoon, its yellow and red handle molded into the shape of Ronald McDonald's grinning head. The other cupped a hill of white powder. "Snort this." I didn't want to, but I was already fucked up, and the coke looked cute, like glistening grains of sugar. I brought some to a nostril and breathed in. "Again," he said. Again.

He snorted the rest. Then he began tearing off his clothes and throwing them, arms flailing. Buttons popped; fabric stretched and ripped. He was evidently emulating scenes from various butch pornos. The polo shirt sailed past my head like a pastel pterodactyl. "Strip," he commanded. His dick had already hardened. It looked massive, an image from a joke's unfunny punchline, and it curved upward like a giant accusing finger. "Go down there, boy."

I fell to my knees and took his dick in my mouth. I didn't know what I was doing. I was so scared.

"You like that, don't you?" he said. He fucked my face. "Swallow it deep. Moan for me, let me know how good it is." That seemed sickening for some reason. He thrust it farther, its head tearing at the back of my throat. It choked me, and I winced. I let up a little, pulling my head back, and as his dick slid out I felt him spit on me. I heard the distinct pull of the phlegm from deep in his throat, the pause, and finally the cartoony "phew" as the spit hailed from his mouth. A thumb-sized blob hit my cheek.

I stood. I was fathoms away from my usual helm of control.

He shoved me onto his waterbed, the sloshing as sudden and loud as if I'd been tossed into an ocean. He placed a knee on the bed, grabbed his dick, and slapped my face with it. It hit the blob of spit, and a tiny puddle splashed into my eye. That was rather comic. "You're not finished, slut," he said, then slammed back into my mouth. I was drunk; this wasn't supposed to be happening. I imagined corkscrewing his dick from his body and tossing it through the window, into his garden, seven floors below. That image should have been funny, but it wasn't.

His arm wrapped around my chest. He flipped me over in one motion, as if my body had been hollowed out. "I'm going to give the slut what he needs." His thumb wriggled around in my ass crack, then punctured the hole.

"No," I said. "It's going too far." My head reeled, and I hoped he could understand the garble. "This is not what I do. I'm not supposed to be here." I managed to squirm off the bed, my arm held out to keep him away. He lifted his knee and stood before me, eyes flashing.

The room grew quiet. In the outside hallway, I could hear footsteps, a walk breaking into a run. "You were on that street" he said. "I know what you were there for. You'll do what I tell you. That's what a slut does."

"I don't know why I was there," I said. "I really don't." The door to the adjoining room was cracked slightly, and when I peeked around his shoulder I could see a bathtub's porcelain edge. "Just wait a minute," I told him. "Let me piss. Then…I'll be back in a second."

I expected his meaty arm to shoot out and grab me, but it didn't. I brushed past him, made it to the bathroom, slammed the door. It had one of those old-fashioned locks, a little hook-shaped latch that fit into a silver eyehole. I fastened it and sat on the tub's edge, breathing. The drug's grains exploded through my brain. _Calm down_, I told myself. _Calm him down. Be careful, finish, get the money._

Then I heard him, trying to get in. I looked at the door. The John had wedged the end of a butter knife into the crack, and he wiggled it higher, toward the space where the latch connected door with frame. I actually felt my body tremble. The knife pushed higher, meddling closer to the latch until their silvers struck. The latch came loose, clicking back against the door. A second of silence passed. Then the door flew open, and the John came thundering in.

_He's going to kill me_, I thought. I imagined the thin, pliable shape of the butter knife thudding against my skin over and over, at last breaking through to razor my heart. I held up one hand to stop him. But he wasn't going to stab. Instead, he tossed the knife into the air. It made a half-revolution, and he caught it again, stepped toward me, and raised the thick handle. It smacked against my forehead. Snap.

I fell backward. The room spun in a blurry maelstrom, the naked John its center. I landed in the bathtub. My face was turned away from him, toward the gold circle of the drain. I saw stray beads of water, a soap bubble, a black pubic hair. "You're getting fucked whether you want it or not," his voice said, and in the cold space of the bathroom it echoed like a barbarous god's. "And I know you want it."

I felt my legs being pulled up, like slabs of meat a butcher hoists toward the gleaming hook. He maneuvered me into a failed headstand, and the side of my face slammed against the tub's bottom. Something made the sound of a walnut cracking.

The thumb pushed back into my ass. Another. Then, unmistakably, I felt him twiddling his thumbs inside me. The twiddling sent a warm throb deep into my stomach, and I groaned. He took that as his cue to pull my body toward his. My ass became his bull's-eye. His dick slammed against the hole, holding there, teasing it, and then my tight bud of skin gave way to it. He was inside me.

"Gonna show you what that hole was made for." I tried to move my head, tried to focus on him, only saw the horrible bright white of porcelain and his head's shadow. The bathroom light crowned him with an enormous halo.

I felt skewered. His body pistoned back and forth as it had when he'd fucked my face. I moved my arm, attempting to stop even some fraction of his motion. In my position, I couldn't reach back to touch him. My hand smacked a faucet, and cold water began dribbling from the shower head, seasoning our bodies. My eyes closed. When I reopened them, I saw blood swirling toward the drain.

The shower of water enraged him, a rage I could feel shooting into my own body.

"Slut!" he screamed. From the corner of my eye I saw him reach toward the tub's edge; close his hand around a shampoo bottle. His arm raised, briefly obliterating the bathroom light. Then his arm came down, curving at full speed and force through the air. The bottle bashed against my head. The arm rose again. The bottle struck again. Blood squirted a red poppy onto the porcelain. Another swing. His dick stayed massive inside me. The bottle pummeled my head a fourth and fifth time. The noise it made—and I could hear it so clearly, a perfect sound rebounding through my head—was a hollow, almost soft _bup._

The words please stop took form inside my mouth, but I couldn't say them. The shampoo bottle battered my cheekbone, my chin, my eye. More water needled down. He drilled farther through me, dismantling my guts, his dick seeming to lacerate whatever internal walls my body still supported. _Bup_. Pause. _Bup bup bup_. He beat me, matching his arm with the rhythm of his fucking. The bottle dropped, still not shattering, and landed next to my head. I read its label: BABY SHAMPOO. Below that, written inside a pink teardrop, NO MORE TEARS.

"God, you want it. Take that cock all the way inside there." His words blended into a moan, a yell, a kind of cough. I felt hot and gluey spurts bulleting deep inside me, bursts of wet heat, arrows aimed for the pit of my stomach. The spurts ricocheted off my body's ruined walls, staining me everywhere with their deadly graffiti, and if I opened my mouth I knew they would spew out. But my mouth was open. I was trying to scream.

I still strained to bat him away. It was too late; he had finished. He pulled his dick out and dropped my legs back into the tub.

Water streamed beside my face. My blood, a granular swirl of soap, and a stray bullet of his sperm blended into it and zoomed toward the drain. I found I could move at last, and I looked up at him. He walked out, swatting the light switch. The darkness wasn't what I needed, but it was close.

When I woke, the darkness remained.

"I'm sober," I said, and my voice cracked on both words. I lay on the front lawn of the John's apartment complex. I couldn't remember dressing or leaving. Beneath me, blades of grass felt like ice picks. In the mulch beneath a dying bush, I saw a close-up view of pebbles, a screw, coils of tangerine peel, tangled ribbon from a gutted cassette tape, a torn section from a Times obituary…darkness ruffled everything beyond that.

I sat up and raised my head, counting the apartment's ascending windows toward the seventh floor. He lived beyond one of those windows. He remained there, perhaps cleaning my blood from his porcelain tub, perhaps washing come from his pubic hair with a handful of baby shampoo.

Blocks away, the lights from the subway station gleamed their sickly orange. I was a twenty minutes trip from home, but at least I knew how to get back. What would I tell Diane? I pushed myself from the ground, and my head throbbed. Pain shot through my stomach, into my chest. My tongue snagged on the razorlike edge from a chipped front tooth.

To forget the pain, I thought about what the night had done. Everything had been hurled out of balance, a sudden and sickening displacement I could feel even as I walked toward the subway, as I lumbered and tripped like a hopeless drunk, like the person my mom had been when she'd barely survived her worst drinking days. "Mom," I said aloud. I almost put "I want my" in front of it.

This is what has happened, I thought.

The empty subway car shed light on my abraded knuckles, the dribbles of blood on my shirt. I started to count the stops on the way back, but I lost count after six.

I spat on the subway car's floor to hopefully obliterate any smidgeon of virus he might have deposited there. If only I could use some similar gesture for my ass. I was filled with the queasy urge to shit, but I fought it back. I never wanted to touch my ass again. It felt as though something were jammed inside it still, something small yet full of hazard and horror, like TNT or a scorpion.

When I arrived home, the kitchen clock read 4:45 a.m. I stepped into the bathroom, leaving the light off, taking care to avoid the mirror. As I stripped, each movement made me wince.

I pulled down the lip of my boxers and stared at my dick. It was repulsive. I hated it. The boxers dropped to the floor, landing beside a green-and-yellow striped shirt I'd worn that afternoon. I sat, picked it up, held it to my face. I breathed the scent of how I was before. Outside, in the street, a woman screamed so loudly it might have been a machine. The screaming continued for two minutes, three, then stopped. In the seconds that followed, the entire world grew incredibly quiet, and I cried.


End file.
